Save the Planet, Screw the Humans.

The Day the Earth Stood Still- Keanu Reeves, Jennifer Connelly, Jaden Smith




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Toward the end of The Day the Earth Stood Still, Kathy Bates (gloriously miscast as the Secretary of Defense) looks down at her watch only to discover that it has stopped ticking. In fact, we all looked at our watches hoping that time had actually stopped which would explain the loss of two precious hours of our lives-unrecoverable hours. We watched our kindred humans try to convince newly arrived alien, Klaatu (Keanu Reeves), to give humankind another chance instead of wiping out people to save the planet. Frankly, about 25 minutes in (I'm being generous here. It could've been five minutes.), my friend and I wanted to pitch in and help Klaatu and his buddy, Gort (who looks like a prop from the original movie), accomplish their mission. Frankly, if humankind is still willing to spend millions of dollars producing this drivel instead of actually cleaning up the planet, we deserve to be exterminated.



I ask you, have we not, by now, viewed enough science fiction to realize that acting like idiots only confirms our idiocy to the aliens? Generally, most people don't react well to being shot so why should an alien? Most people don't favor being held against their will so why would an alien? Just thinking out loud here. Who'd want to save us anyway? Save the fish, kill the people. People suck. And out of curiosity, are the only people worth saving the classical music-listening, granola loving intellectuals who let their bratty step-children walk all over them like they're wall-to-wall carpet? Are these the only values aliens can relate to? If Klaatu had stumbled upon Joe Six-Pack listening to Toby Keith or a single, childless female singing along to Britney Spears, well, I guess we should kiss our uncultured asses goodbye.



And, you know, I love my all-American movies a much as the next patriot but it's a worldwide crisis yo! Even "W." figured out that in a worldwide crisis it's best to involve...the world. So, given the glut of British and Australian actors currently occupying space on American television, one would think we could dig up an accent or two for this movie (and, no, Keanu doesn't count.) Surely (I mean obviously), not all of the smart people in the world live in the United States nor do they all reside in the New Jersey area (all do props to my featured alma mater, Princeton University.) If this were actually the case, I wouldn't have to keep speaking to my good friend, Bob, in India to fix my computer problems. Just one international scientist to make it appear as though the alien invasion is having an impact everywhere (though I really appreciated all the "been around the world" montages.) Even Michael Bay came up with a hot twenty year old blond Australian computer expert for Transformers. It can be done.




EAT.



McDonald's. Every alien being recognizes the golden arches-the absolute emblem of western over-consumption. This altar of obesity is where the aliens choose to meet?! Well, if it's good enough for Klaatu, then it's good enough for the planet-killing, meat-eating likes of you.



SHOP.




Don't let lower gas prices fool you. If you're forced to drive an environmental fascist around (or an alien), you'd better not pull up in an Escalade. Hybrid, baby, hybrid. Or an electric car if you can find one. Reduce your use at www.kbb.com/kbb/green-cars. Kelley Blue Book will give you the lowdown on green technology so you can impress that alien passenger your schlepping around (you'd think he could figure out how to drive) and give us a real shot at saving our sorry selves. Lord knows Jennifer Connelly couldn't get the job done on her own.

What Not to Do to Will Smith.

Seven Pounds-Will Smith, Rosario Dawson





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There should probably be some basic rules written for Will Smith movies so we don't have anymore mishaps. We, the audience (represented by me), will offer up a basic outline. We don't like to see Will Smith sad. We like to see Mr. Smith cocky, tossing that million dollar smile around like the Pope tosses holy water. Mopey? Guilt-ridden? Suicidal? No, thank you. Not our cuppa Will. We liked him in Ali. He was extraordinary in The Pursuit of Happyness. However, those movies had in their possession a coherent storyline with a beginning, middle and end that took both character and audience on a journey for two hours. (Okay, Ali may have only had a vague timeline and not all the rest of that stuff.) This movie can't even claim that much.



Secondly, we don't confuse "serious acting" with believability. We, the audience, suspect that Mr. Smith was perplexed by the idea that a wealthy, attractive, successful man who causes a tragic accident would be inclined to offer himself up (quite literally) to complete and total strangers as penance for his sins. You shouldn't have to try this hard, Mr. Smith. We don't buy the premise either. It just seems that if you caused the deaths of a bunch of people, you would try to make amends to their families or something. (Are we, the audience, over-thinking this one?)

By the way, we, the audience, know what's coming. Seven Pounds is a mystery that forgets how to be a mysterious. If we, the audience, can figure out the how the movie's gonna end within the first two minutes then something is wrong, and no amount of stylizing or gut-wrenching is going to fix it. Not even our beloved Will Smith can fix it. If the movie had started at the actual beginning of the story, it would have been nearly impossible to shock us at the end. The only way to maintain interest in this story was to make us hope for the happy ending and then drag us to the inevitable conclusion kicking and screaming. Thanks for the creative editing, but we, the audience, still know what's coming which makes it pretty hard to sit through the next hour and fifty-six minutes.

Last complaint-we never want to see Mr. Smith play an asshole (it sure didn't work well in Hancock.) When Will berates Woody Harrelson's blind customer service representative (a rant which should come naturally to anybody who has ever had cable or a cell phone), it's like he can't even fake having an asshole gene. Makes his believability in this role even more suspect. We, the audience, don't ever see how his character has transformed from someone who took life for granted into this repentant, selfless human being willing to give his life for others. As far as we can tell, he was always a nice guy. I mean he is Will Smith after all.) This oversight makes it hard to understand why he must die to make the movie work. (We bet that some poor publicity drone died trying to market this movie though.) Hear us gods of film-"He is friggin' Will Smith; therefore, he should not, by cinematic law, be allowed to die in a movie unless he comes back as a really funny ghost." We, the audience, have spoken.



EAT.





(No "we" here. This will just be me, the sarcastic one.) Vegetarian dog food. No, I didn't know there were vegetarian dogs but in this movie Rosario Dawson's dog is, indeed, not a meat eater. Now, I've seen everything. In order to insure the safe transition of your naturally carnivorous pet into a morally upright animal, visit http://www.helpinganimals.com/ and search under "meatless meals for dogs and cats." Next you'll be telling me there's doggie yoga. What?! Oh, never mind.



SHOP.



Australian box jellyfish. I would assume if you can't buy freakin' Australian Vegemite in the U.S. then these bad boys are also off limits. "Why?" you ask. Don't ask. If you really have to know, then I guess you'll have to see the movie. Good luck with that.

Rules Weren't Made to be Broken

Transporter 3-Jason Statham



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I know, I know. Just hold your horses. I did not go see this movie just to have an easy target of ridicule. As you know, I love Jason Statham and his abs. I admire his ability to fight the inevitable circle of European stunt guys armed with only his taut abs and a perfectly pressed suit. Legendary. Look, the first Transporter was a good action flick. The character was new (okay, maybe not new but still interesting.) The second movie was a little bit forced but still passable. Number 3 is, well,...let's just say the jury is still out on how long this series can survive. Here's my case for Mr. Statham moving on and leaving this series behind.


My first piece of evidence regards the blatant cradle robbing in this movie. This goes to the motive for making the movie, boys. (The first movie smacked of cradle robbing as well; but I ignored it because it was "new," and Mr. Statham was younger so it wasn't so creepy.) From where I sat, the "package" (Natalya Rudakova) didn't look old enough to drive herself to a play date never mind serve as a suitable love interest for Mr. Statham. (Or maybe my eyes are just giving out. "Bitter. Table for one.") Secondly, your Honor, I'd like to point out that the Transporter's rules, a pretty critical element of the first movie, all but go out the window in this one. Sure, there's a little pressure by the bad guy but not enough to justify Frank's (Jason Statham) willy-nilly abandonment of such basics as "seat belt on when the car is in motion." During the one long car chase of the movie, the baby (I mean "package") is not in her car seat (I mean wearing a seat belt.) DURING THE CAR CHASE?! Frank's biggest rule. Sure, maybe this is supposed to signify how frazzled the bad guy has made our Transporter but I don't buy it. The old Frank Martin was a real stickler for seat belt safety (right up there with the "fight against a circle of European stunt guys" rule.)


In Transporter 3, apparently anything goes. Maybe it's just me (it usually is) but even with a bomb strapped to his wrist (Speed on a personal level), I just never got the sense that Frank was as frustrated about his situation as his should have been. And, frankly, there didn't seem to be that much cause for concern. Yes, we have a psychotic bad guy willing to shoot his own men, but who cares if he shoots his own guys? They're the bad guys. He's no Dennis Hopper. At least in Speed, Dennis was willing to kill everybody, especially innocent civilians. This trait makes him hateable. This new generation of bad guys is so aloof that I can't muster up the energy to want to see them die at the end of the movie. Anyway, your Honor, this leads to my final exhibit. A super bad villain thinks of every contingency. He does not lose the Transporter's position because the Transporter has driven into the mountains. He should not have to send a group of European stuntmen after said Transporter because the Transporter has gone off course. When a super bad villain calls, the Transporter should pick up the phone. The Transporter should not be screwing the "package" in the backseat of his precious Audi. (Again, I could just be bitter.)


My friend, who is also a fan of the series, asked me if two simple criteria were met. A) Did Jason Statham drive really fast? Check. B) Did Jason Statham take his shirt off? Check. But in closing, your Honor, I submit that there is more to our Transporter than those fine abs and manly handling of an Audi. The Transporter has a code without which he is just another driver for hire. (Note here all who think I picked an easy target that I do not criticize the acting.) I simply believe that in the rush to get another one week wonder quickly into the international DVD market, everybody forgot who the Transporter is supposed to be. And if they can't be bothered, well then, why should you be?



EAT.



The "package" is constantly spouting off fabulous European dishes from the hundreds of restaurants from Marseilles to Odessa that she apparently frequents. Sadly, our Transporter and his "package" only get to stop for sex not dinner (soooo bitter.) Who needs to eat? Well, not a lot of actors in movies these days I guess. Should you find yourself with a bomb strapped to your wrist set to go off the moment you wander to far from your luxury car, you might want to consider a drive-thru restaurant. I'm not sure how I did it 'cause I don't really speak or read French; but you can go to the McDonald's website (http://www.mcdonalds.com/), pick a country, and type in your destination (assuming the bad guy gives you a destination) then, voila, every McDonald's drive-thru on that route will be provided. Just be sure to pack your defibrillator.



SHOP.



Waterproof Audis? No. Worldwide cell phone coverage? Nope. Stunt Driving Lessons! I mean who doesn't want to maneuver a car onto the sides of the wheels whilst speeding in between two semi trucks going 200 mp...er...kph? Or perhaps you'd like to jump your Audi off a bridge onto a moving train when you're late for your daily commute? Stunt driving-so practical for everyday use. Even Frank Martin can't disapprove of Bobby Ore's Stunt Driving School. On the website, they strongly urge students not to use the skills they learn in class out on the street. Of course not. Who in their right mind would do that? Well, take a class and find out for yourself at http://www.bobbyoresports.com/.

Don't Call It A Comeback.

The Wrestler- Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei


Director- Darren Aronofsky





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Just for the record, Mickey Rourke was never gone. He's been making movies for a very long time. Angel Heart. Barfly. The Pledge. The Rainmaker. Sin City. Man on Fire. (Not all of them were as entertaining as Angel Heart but, hey, we all have our skeletons. Something tells me the closet where Mickey's are stored is deeper and darker than Dracula's crypt.) My problem (and, I suspect, the reason so many people are referring to The Wrestler as a comeback of sorts) stems from the fact that Mickey Rourke is virtually unrecognizable from film to film. And not in a "Wow! He really inhabits that character"-kind of way although he certainly does in The Wrestler. It's more like a "Wow! Reconstructive surgery, boxing, and substance abuse provide a better disguise than Carlos the Jackal could muster up" -kind of way. (Hell, he could be Carlos the Jackal for all I know or maybe Michael Jackson.) Glancing back at photos of Mickey from the early '80s (oh, who am I kidding? I was straight-up, mouth agape staring for at least an hour), I posited that, by all rights, this man should be as handsome today as say George Clooney. The thing is George Clooney (and I love the man) could never play this role.



I don't care how makeup, hair, wardrobe, a good script and good direction transform you, only a man who has been beautiful and then, literally, had the beauty beaten out of him could become "The Ram." There is no vanity in this role not when you're wearing a hearing aid and puking on yourself. That's not a dig at other actors. A lot of actors have gained weight, worn scars, and forgone glamorous hair and makeup in order to play more "serious" roles. Mickey Rourke simply was "The Ram" long before he lifted weights and learned about wrestling. He comes with the scars. He's not too pretty to play the part anymore. Actually, he's never been a pretty boy. That's just not his persona. This guy has always been about the acting. I dare you to name anybody else his age who would appear on screen looking like a worn out tire in this the age of the ageless and, simultaneously, deliver a character who is tragic and likable. Never happen. Darren Aronofsky is one lucky S.O.B.




The Wrestler is one of the saddest movies I've seen in a long time primarily because it demonstrates, unflinchingly, how lonely and fleeting success can be all while delving into the violent underbelly of the post pro-wrestling world (I mean barbed wire and staple guns? Yikes.). Despite the gloomy cloud which hangs over many a film based in New Jersey, this film is also a story of heartening courage. It does, after all, take courage to go out and do what you love even when what you love doesn't love you back. Maybe that's why Mickey Rourke fits this role so well.





EAT.



Whatever the hell you "eat" to pump up to wrestler size. I don't know-a village of plump, flavorful Italians (for the carbs.) Whatever it is, it plus the steroids will probably kill you before you get your spandex on.





SHOP.



Sorry, I know this is obvious but ever since Jack Black's Nacho Libre I've wondered what possesses people to buy wrestling masks. By "people" I mean non-wrestlers. Do you wear it around the house or when you're mowing your lawn? Anyway, I can't imagine anyone but an actual pro-wrestler or an S&M fetishist needing one, but just in case, you can body slam your way to http://www.mywrestlingshop.com/ and peruse their collection. Just remember, Mickey didn't need a mask to play "The Ram." Make of that what you will.

Australia: The Musical

Australia-Nicole Kidman, Hugh Jackman

Director-Baz Luhrmann






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Let me preface this entry with a statement and a query. First, men and women alike weep at the sight of Hugh Jackman sans shirt. Thank you, Mr. Luhrmann. Second, what in the name of all that is holy would possess a country to send its military to any kind of war, except a tug-of-war, wearing shorts? Please don't talk to me about heat. I'm from Texas. Oh, and I don't see any Middle Eastern armies going to war in shorts, do you? We'll come back to this later.


Frankly, I'm not a fan of musicals. There. I've said it. I don't grasp the concept of any sane person breaking into song and/or dance as a means of expressing his or her predicament to an audience on film or in theater. (I realize I have qualified that statement with the term "sane." And, yes, I know "Australia" is technically not a musical. Wait for it.) I mean I don't explain my schedule for the week to my friends via a little ditty punctuated with some tap dance. Nonetheless, Baz Luhrmann won me over to the dark side of melodic exposition with "Moulin Rouge." I even bought the soundtracks. Both of them. Who knew? Unfortunately, the same desire to burst forth into song that made "Moulin Rouge" soar seems to permeate the atmosphere of "Australia." Don't ask me how it happened. It just did. I swear every actor in the movie looks as though they have a song dancing on the tip of their tongue just waiting for the orchestra to cue the right key. Of course, such a situation presents a major problem unless you came expecting a musical in which case you have other more serious problems.



I, however, came to theater expecting a big sweeping World War II-Australian outback-white man done us wrong-big bad rancher vs. cowboy-English rose loves roughneck epic movie! Give me a plucky but obstinate heroine, a ruggedly handsome and conservatively liberal cowboy(what white man marries an aboriginal woman and still remains misogynistic), an oddly mystical big-eyed kid, completely unlikable bad guys and an extraordinary landscape and, well, I'd say you have a sweeping epic movie. However, Baz says that you have a semi-epic movie dotted with over-the-top comedy (Australian humor-what do I know), forced dramatic situations, an even more forced love story and, of course, requisite shots of running livestock topped off with requisite Australian actors Bryan Brown and Jack Thompson. (Both actors are a bit wasted in my humble opinion since this story covers more physical space than actual character development.) In a smaller country I might have found the time and a reason to care about these people, but they had so far to travel and only three hours to get there.

EAT.

When in Rome.... Let's talk about Vegemite, shall we? I have tasted Marmite. Apparently, both Marmite and Vegemite are yeast spreads made from the by-product of beer production. Waste not, want not. I understand Vegemite to be a slightly less harshly flavored version of Marmite; therefore, I feel qualified to comment thusly-"blech, ewww, yuck." I understand that in the olden days when food was scarce we might have considered saving our yeast by-product and turning it into a bread spread resourceful but COME ON! If you insist on celebrating the sweeping "epic" from Down Under with toast and dubious yeast spread, well, I just can't help you.

SHOP?

Admit it. We all love that outback look. Those funny pants with all the pockets. Dashing hats. Ugg boots. (What?) But what about the World War II Australian military uniform? (See?! You thought I forgot about that query.) In this "epic" film, we see Australia's army loading up in their jeeps wearing, well, shorts and jaunty hats like they're heading out to play tennis at the club. "What fresh hell is this?" I thought. Sadly, I'm low on Australian military uniform experts in my stable of friends, and my initial research left me confused and a little concerned for the boys down under. What I gleaned from my first foray into the world of combat shorts is that the soldiers or "diggers" were issued what might be termed a "tropical" uniform consisting of short-sleeved shirts, shorts, boots and "puttees" (or strange woolen bandages wrapped over the lower leg.) I then stumbled across something of an experiment in "adjustable" length pants which I can't even bring myself to discuss.

Finally, I went to the source-the Australian Department of Defence (yes, that's with a "c") website for the Australian Army. I surveyed an astonishing array of uniform configurations and found none (save physical training and protective dress) that currently require donning shorts. Praise the Lord. No, I don't really mean for you to shop for an army uniform so much as to realize that what you wear to war is as important as the weapon you carry. As long as they don't send these guys to face bullets and shrapnel in safari shorts anymore then I'm A-OK. I'll just have to assume they don't break into song and dance in battle.

White Angst: Redux

Revolutionary Road-Kate Winslet, Leonardo DiCaprio

Director- Sam Mendes





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On the upside, a Leonardo DiCaprio film without any dismemberment. On the downside, 1950's white suburban angst. We've all felt that before. Let's just peruse the 1950s, shall we? Official end of World War II. Official beginning of McCarthyism. Josef Stalin dies. The polio vaccine is created. Segregation is ruled illegal in the United States. Rosa Parks stays seated on a bus. The space race begins. Fidel Castro becomes dictator of Cuba. I'm no historian. I actually had to look this stuff up. I had a sneaking suspicion that a lot of really important things happened in the 1950s. A lot of events occurred which do not seem to shape the lives of our characters in fair suburban Connecticut. I guess that's why people move there. But back to the story-young promising couple moves to Connecticut to raise a family. Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) muddles dissatisfied through his life as a man supporting his family. Frank's wife, April (Kate Winslet), struggles to be a suburban actress-housewife. (That combination never goes well together. Trust me.) One day, April hits upon a great idea to save them from their banal life and resuscitate their failing marriage. "Why, we'll simply move to France, Rhett, I mean, Frank!" Angst be gone. And then....




Let me just stop you there. Revolutionary Road was written by Richard Yates in 1961. Never read it. However, I love stories of unrealized potential. They make me feel comfortable where I am in this place I call a career. As a novel, I might love to sit with this story over a cup of tea and bourbon. (What?!) As a viewer in 2008, I can't relate. Here, however, is where I develop an appreciation for the film. Sam Mendes reminds me of why I am grateful to live when and where I live. Somehow this movie makes me wary of all the threats to the freedoms we have gained here in the good ol' U.S. (And, no, I'm not talking about terrorists.) Oh, and also, I never want to get married. Ever. Sadly for the film, the only people I know who might want to watch a marriage fall apart for two hours are nosy neighbors in a cramped apartment where analog TV is the only other option. I won't tell you not to see it. (Nobody listens to me anyway.) It is a fine, controlled piece of film making. It has extraordinary performances. (Michael Shannon will wake you from your "Oscar-worthy" performance slumber.) But be warned. Don't bring your modern day sensibilities to this film. You'll only wonder what planet those people on the screen hail from.






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Ahhh, to go back again to the good ol' days when the men were men and the women drank at ten in the morning. It's a miracle anyone survived the fifties. And what were these people eating? Was that a pineapple-ham hors d'oeuvre? Seriously?! If you crave a Hawaiian luau on a toothpick, travel to http://www.retro-housewife.com/. There you can find titillating tips for the "retro" housewife of today as well as recipes that predate fear of carbs. Careful what you wish for.





SHOP.





Hide your younguns'. This is for real adults only. And liberal ones at that. Condoms. You betcha. You will not find me in the bathroom with some strange rubber devise trying to terminate my own pregnancy (I'm really talking about April here. Nobody in their right mind would let me even begin to procreate.) What the hell! Soooo not liking the fifties mentality. According to Wikipedia, the earliest known form of birth control dates around ancient Egyptian times. Cleopatra was a busy little bee after all. The condom was invented in the 17th century. It seems far easier to use than the other strange rubber thingie that April keeps in her bathroom for more unpleasant occasions. (Dear Lord, thank you for giving me life in 1970.) When I go to buy condoms...who am I kidding? Happily, they are easier to procure than other forms of contraception or so I'm told. For other birth control options visit http://www.webmd.com/sex/birth-control. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes "Enough already. Go take a cold shower or something."

A Dictionary. Open not closed.

Quantum of Solace-Daniel Craig, Judi Dench


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What the hell is a "quantum"? Three guys are credited with penning this screenplay, and none of them could come up with a catchier title?! No. I did not read the book. Back in my day, you went to the movie and that sufficed. If the movie was extraordinary you might, might, pick up the book. I don't care how good the Bond movies are, you cannot convince me that in order to understand a movie title I should first read cover to cover one of these books in the hopes that I might stumble across the sentence which begot said title. The British. Readers. Me. I'm an American. I like to watch. When I go to see a Bond movie, I do not carry a pocket dictionary and an Itty Bitty Book Light. Here's why. Good Guy=Bond. Bad Guy= Guy with foreign, excuse me, non-American accent. Good Guy kills Bad Guy. During his down time, Good Guy has sex with naive girl or with cunning bad girl. Either way, after the lovin', the girl must die. (Note to self: sex with Bond =sure death.) Anyway, sprinkle in gritty fight scenes, over the top stunts and plane/boat/automobile chases as needed. Done. No dictionary required.

That was then. Now there's actually a story (or sub-story, I'm not really sure here) which I have to follow. I own "Casino Royale," but, no, I don't remember all the intricate details. Jeez. I have to do homework before going to see this movie. I have to pay attention to whom he is killing and why. Frankly, I'm not sure even the writers know that part. (Sorry, Mr. Haggis, but you need to slow down a minute.) Back to the title. What about "Vesper's Vengeance" or "To Kill and Kill Again"? Less subtlety, please. Hello! We Americans still watch movies even if the world is trying to do everything else without us. We like things we can understand. It's what makes us Americans.

Look. I'll see every Bond movie they churn out even if I have to bring a dictionary, a thesaurus and a Bible. Still, three things and three things alone hooked me in this movie. 1) Daniel Craig-Anytime, anywhere. 2) Jeffrey Wright- Could somebody please give this actor his due? And 3) Olga Kurylenko-There's a very short list of kick ass women with whom Bond does not have his way. That's right. She doesn't die.


EAT.


Apparently killing oodles of people serves as a natural appetite suppressant. Can I just point out that alcohol is all you ever see James Bond ingest in this movie. Well, amen, brother. If I had your job, I'd probably ride the martini train all night as well. In celebration of the only secret agent who can survive for days without water and food but simply must have his martini "shaken not stirred" visit www.swankmartini.com . There you will find a history of the James Bond martini (from the freakin' book series, you purists) as well as recipes and "MI-6" worthy martini shakers. Drink up. I'm sure another Bond movie is just around the corner. They'll probably call it "Allotment of Assuagement." Yeah. Look it up. I dare you.

One aside. The Bad Guy, Dominic Greene (Mathieu Almaric), arrives at a "bad guy" meeting in the Bolivian desert eating a shiny, crisp apple. I know, I know. This represents the bountiful harvest that our baddie is wresting away from the Bolivian people by plundering their water supply but would you take a fruit eating bad guy seriously? C'mon.




SHOP.


Three words. Tide. To. Go. (Well, put them together.) For the killer on the go. When you absorb as much blood in your tuxedo shirt as Bond does you'll need a cleaning solution of massive proportions. Frankly, you don't have time to drop off at the nearest dry cleaners. And what are you going to tell them anyway? "I cut myself falling through a glass ceiling with a double agent whom I ultimately killed." Please. What you need are a couple of hundred Tide-To-Go pens to take those stains out until you have time to purchase your next $3,000 suit. Don't leave M's office without 'em. Shop http://www.tide.com/ or go to your nearest grocery store. Please try not to accidentally drop somebody over the side of a building on your way.

Flappers, freaks and fake kids.

"CHANGELING"-Angelina Jolie, John Malkovich Director: Clint Eastwood


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So, if it walks like a duck; talks like a duck; looks like a duck; and the L.A.P.D. tells you it's a duck, well, it's probably a viper. Look, no organization is all bad. In Hollywood, however, the L.A.P.D. is the premiere villain. Even if there's one good cop in the force, the barrel is portrayed as rotten. When you see "Changeling" and note with incredulity the sheer balls of a police department that would return the wrong child to a distraught mother and then accuse her of being a bad mother because she won't accept the child as her own, you may side with Hollywood. 1928. It doesn't seem that long ago, does it? Blacks got lynched; men beat women to keep them in line; and the police lied. (Thank goodness times have changed.)



Apparently, the police didn't just lie. Lying is for criminals. The police told elaborate fairytales. Something like, "Hey, Sweetheart, this kid we shipped in from Illinois is your kid even if a)his dental records are different; b) his teacher has never seen him before; c) he's shorter than your kid was and d)he's circumcised (unlike your kid.) And lady, if you don't swallow that line of bull--, well, we'll lock you up in the "psychopathic ward." (In today's Los Angeles this is now known as the plastic surgeon's office.) Playing the aforementioned distraught mother, Christine Collins, is Angelina Jolie. Jolie does a good job of portraying a relative anomaly of the era-a single mother holding down a respectable job and raising a decent kid. When the time comes to act frail (act frail not look like a strong wind could knock her over), I failed to buy her confusion and capitulation. Sorry. This is Angelina "Freakin" Jolie. "Hackers." "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider." "Mr. and Mrs. Smith." "Wanted." She doesn't get confused. She kicks ass. Apparently the only women who kicked ass in 1928 were hookers so I'm stuck with Angelina trying to appear frail and confused and at the mercy of men which we all know she is not even if her character was. Hard sell. Still, an interesting movie.


EAT.


Couldn't tell ya. Didn't seem like much was being eaten by the cast in this movie. Oh, alright. Since 1928, the famous Canter's Fairfax has been serving delighful deli food. I figure anything that's been around Los Angeles since the story in this movie took place must be worth checking out.


SHOP.


In the 1920s. men dressed like men not hobos in need of belts. Hats and coats. I mean, it's southern California. They must have had heatstroke 11 months out of 12. In any case, they looked good. The women were pretty snazzy too. Managers at the telephone company wore roller skates while they worked. Could you imagine? I mean it's not like you're serving burgers and shakes at the drive-in. You're operating a phone system for cryin' out loud. In a 1920's dress and skates! Forgive me. I digress.


Shop http://www.davenportandco.com/ or http://www.bobbydene.com/ for 1920's (actual 1920's) clothes for men and women. Please. You won't wear this stuff unless you're going to a costume party or a funeral but, if Angelina and her tattoos can pull it off...

Dismembering Leo.

Body of Lies- Leonardo Dicaprio, Russell Crowe






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When was the last time Leonardo DiCaprio did a lighthearted comedy? Anybody? How about the last time he made a film that didn't involve some body part being pulled, sawed, smashed, chopped or shot off? Yeah. That's what I thought. Look. I get it. When you're good at something, you stick with it. Nobody wants to see a dramatic actor struggle through badly timed jokes just so he/she can "stretch." However, it has got to be depressing to spend the better part of your year immersed in characters who either wind up dead or disfigured through some horrible, gut-wrenching (literally) act of violence. Well, your choice, Leo. At least now I know that if your name is in the titles, I'll watch the movie with my eyes closed. That's probably only worth a matinee ticket though.



While "Body of Lies" is an interesting look at American foreign policy, the really nasty parts of war that get fought by government agencies and all of that serious heavy stuff that makes the world go round, it didn't resonate with me. I attribute this problem to all of the weight that Russell Crowe gained to deliver his performance as a sleazy CIA puppet master, Ed Hoffman. Hoffman is a large, jolly looking man who resembles Santa Claus minus his penchant for abandoning his CIA assets to violent deaths. (Santa would not do that.) Hmmm. Santa is jovial and well-fed. Ed Hoffman is creepy and well-fed. Nope. Not similar at all. In general, I think people who eat well are happier; therefore, I do not understand why Ed Hoffman has no joy. He should be happily spreading democracy through the many legal and ethical means that the CIA employs. Instead, he launches secret missions within missions; burns his friends and basically is up to no good. That is classic Grinch behavior which makes sense because the Grinch is underfed and, everyone (in Hollywood at least) knows that hungry people get mean. Perhaps, I oversimplify. In any case, when well-fed white men do bad things, it's just beyond me. I get my Santas and Grinches all confused and start looking at my watch. You understand.




EAT?




If you can still eat after the last 15 minutes of this movie, you should either seek psychiatric help or join the CIA. In either case, what the hell, try something Middle Eastern. If food is, in fact, the way to a man's heart, well, maybe it's the way to everyone's heart. Instead of cultural exchange, we should be sharing food as a means of achieving world peace. (Who wants to see a bunch of nine year-olds singing anyway? They're probably lip-syncing beauty queens.) Of course, all of this could just be wishful thinking. I did skip breakfast before I saw this movie which made me a little hostile while viewing it. Still, in my humble opinion, (are you listening policymakers?) hungry people don't want to negotiate. Hunger doesn't put me in a compromising kind of mood anyway. Even if our enemies were willing to look past political or religious differences and give peace a chance, they would still probably want to blow us up if they've gone a few days without chow. Wouldn't you? (Again, Russell, why so angry? Clearly, well-fed for this role.)




Anyway, explore http://www.angelfire.com/ for a variety of Middle Eastern recipes. From Turkey to Afghanistan to Morocco to Egypt, this site delivers links to various websites touting fabulous food finds. Many of the links I tried led to closed websites which caused me some concern. However, upon viewing the inviting title "Muslim family! Yum Yummy Recipes!", I was reassured that all was legit on this site. Good luck to you.





SHOP.




Fake beards. Let me rephrase. Fake beards that don't look fake. After my somewhat traumatic "Appaloosa" experience, I have been on the lookout for bizarre onscreen facial hair. Okay. Maybe Leo's facial hair was real. Grown out after numerous creative meetings, phone calls with agents and camera tests. It just looked weird. Like Shogun or something. And really, if a white man is undercover in the Middle East don't you think the "enemy" would be able to spot him (even with the beard and head wrap)? Speaking of odd looking hair-Mark Strong, God bless him. Fake wigs that don't look fake. People, please! We can't at least get that right? It's a Ridley Scott film for cryin' out loud.

I really couldn't come up with much to help my cause here. Almost everything online looked as though if it landed on your lap you should pet it. Still, you could try www.wigs.com. They have a "Raquel Welch" wig so at least there's something interesting if not real looking. Also (this one's for you, makeup department), you might go to www.expertvillage.com and search under "how to apply fake facial hair." I'm just sayin'.

"Naive" Son.

"W."-Josh Brolin




SEE?

Alright. WHAT THE HELL?! I'm a lifelong Democrat (and a Texan.) I should not leave a movie about George "W." Bush or George "H.W." Bush or George "W.T.F." Bush feeling anything but a validation of the rage I've been carrying around since we failed to catch Osama Bin Laden and entered Iraq looking for imaginary WMDs. Instead, Oliver, I see your film, and I actually felt sorry for this guy. I'm not supposed to be thinking, "Hey, Poppy! Take it easy on 'W.' Clearly, he's an underachiever with a run of good luck that would make leprecans envious. And, by the by, whose fault is that, Poppy?" Oh, Oliver. What happened to my cynical, liberal, heart-on-the-sleeve, card-carrying crazy man? Okay. Maybe he's still cynical. It's not a very flattering portrait of the man. There are many, many jabs at the Bushes and at Republican politics. It's just that the movie doesn't take itself seriously except when dealing with the relationship between "W." and his father. The actors playing various cabinet members (with the welcome exception of Richard Dreyfus and Jeffrey Wright) essentially employ a strategem of facial positioning that, at least in my screening, elicited nothing but laughter. Let's face it. It's hard to play those "characters" straight no matter who you are. Still. It's a presidential adminstration. There should be some gravitas. Oh, wait, I forgot who I was misspeaking about.

I recall that after making "The Queen" Stephen Frears quipped he should receive an award for having the chutzpah to make a film about a living monarch. I'm betting Ollie doesn't have such fears. (I'm also betting that Ollie doesn't like being called Ollie.) You can't fear someone you don't respect. Anyway, Oliver probably figured that enough vitriol against 'W.' exists in America to make backlash against Mr. Stone almost impossible. Although, it is Oliver Stone, he probably welcomes backlash. After all, no backlash, no Oliver Stone. Anyway, most of the movie is such a parody of a "W.'s" life and presidency that it's hardly worth the effort of calling it liberal propaganda. This joke may be on the American people. Poke fun at Bush if you dare. Just remember that nobody (not even his family) believed he had a chance in hell of becoming anything worthy of the "Bush" name, and this guy gets elected President of the United States of America. Twice. That's one more time than his Poppy, people. What does that say about the state of the American presidency? And who did we misunderestimate exactly?

EAT.





White bread sandwiches. Of all the food served in this movie, it was the white bread sandwich that "W." has served to him in the White House with Cheetos that caught my eye. I mean...,really? You can take the boy outta Texas but you can't put him back in Connecticutt. I guess somebody, somewhere has to eat the white bread. Why not the president? So, in honor of our nation's highest office and the C minus students who get to occupy it visit www.familyoven.com.recipes/search.sandwiches.





SHOP.





No. Not cowboy hats and boots. Puh-leeeze! Too obvious. Accent elimination. According to the Sam Chwat Speech center, standard American English is "an accent of American English which does not distract the listener or reveal and regionalisms." No idea what language "W." is speaking then. While I don't believe Bush is a complete idiot as some liberals do, I do believe (and I'm a native Texan) that some accents convey a certain "simpleness." Go ahead. Call me names. Then go ask the international community what they thought when our cowboy president first opened his mouth . I'm betting they thought collectively, "Where the hell did he get that accent? His Poppy doesn't talk like that." Before you run for President, try to adopt a neutral, you-don't-know-what-part-of-the country-I-hail from way of speaking. I'm sure that even Bill Clinton toned down the Arkansas lilt when he started addressing groups larger than a backyard barbecue. For accent elimination classes visit http://www.samchwatspeechcenter.com/. Although, it is based out of New York. The center does offer video classes. (There are, by the way, an awful lot of accent elimination classes offered in the New York area according to my Google search. Hmmmm.)

Transformers Lite.

Eagle Eye-Shia LaBeouf, Michelle Monaghan




SEE.


"Eagle Eye" is, hands down, the best Michael Bay flick I've ever seen. I'm sorry. What did you say? D.J. Caruso? Oh, forgive me. I could have sworn this was a Michael Bay movie. I was really confused. Hmmm. True. The music wasn't quite right and there weren't nearly enough shots of American flags. Okay. Well, the acting was definitely less forced. Hmmm. D.J. Caruso. The director who brought us "Salton Sea," right? That was promising. In the name of all that is holy, will someone please get this man a decent script. Look. There is a standard formula to Hollywood military action flicks. The military does something bad with help of a nervous high level government official. A deep dark government secret is unveiled and must be stopped in order to save the ______. (Plug in whatever works. In this case, the president of the United States and everyone in the cabinet except the secretary of defense.) Some innocent and/or ne'er-do-well with some obscure connection to said plot must be dragged in kicking and screaming to save the ______. Billy Bob Thorton's character (Please. You know that guy is always Billy Bob Thorton.) is the only one who sees through the confusion so that the innocent and/or ne'er-do-well can be free to do whatever it is they must do to save the ______. I'm not against this formula. I'm just saying watch "The Salton Sea." D.J. Caruso is a fine director. Certainly better than an action script involving a supercomputer that decides to eliminate the current administration because of a poor military decision.


And, by the way, it's really hard for me to get behind inanimate objects as "the bad guy." HAL aside, I need a little flesh and bone to hate. Even "Terminator" realized that a human face allows the audience to identify the bad guy. I mean who wouldn't want to destroy a steroid-laden incomprehensible Austrian bodybuilder who recites lines like, "Hasta la vista, baby."? Wouldn't have worked so well if all we saw was that skeletal metal creature or big gold orbs such as those that comprise ARIA, the "villain" of "Eagle Eye." Despite the golden orb fiasco, Caruso handles a fairly interesting premise with reasonable aplomb. Kudos to the car chase sequences. I will never use my cruise control again.



EAT.



Frankly, I don't recall seeing a single character eat during this entire movie. I may be mistaken but, apparently adrenaline is sustenance enough for these characters. However, at one point, Jerry Shaw (Shia LaBeouf) encourages his friend to bet all his money in a poker game so he can take his girl out somewhere nice like Olive Garden or Red Lobster. My fellow elitist audience members snickered. But I thought, hey, those aren't dives. You can drop a pretty penny taking your date out to dinner and a movie. Times are hard. Why not treat your significant other to Olive Garden's "Never Ending Pasta Bowl" special or the limited time "Endless Shrimp" plate at Red Lobster? Snicker all you want until the stock market falls another 900 points.




SHOP.



Whatever you do, don't shop for computers. Apparently, they all develop minds of their own and their minds all say, "Destroy humankind." Instead, why not arm yourself with the latest military hardware. Little did I know that you could ship weapons via UPS forcing your landlady to put say a hundred or so boxes of guns, ammunition, scopes, and ammonium nitrate in your apartment so it doesn't block the hallway. Ah, the movie magic of Hollywood. Check out http://www.tech.military.com/ for an extensive guide to the latest in military weaponry. When you're just itching to get on the FBI's watch list, I'm betting one trip to that site should do it. Hmmmm. Uh oh.

Where's a zombie when you need one?

Blindness-Mark Ruffalo, Julianne Moore





SEE?




Ah, those wacky Canadian-Brazilian-Japanese filmmakers with their wacky literary adaptations. Let's take "Blindness." Hmmm. No zombies in this "world-gone-wrong" flick but same basic premise. People lose their s**t when the slightest little thing goes wrong like being unable to see anything but a milky white film in front of your eyes. A nation of whiners, I say. So, to control the problem, you start rounding up the afflicted (such as an ironically blind opthamologist known only as Doctor (Mark Ruffalo) and his miraculously still seeing wife (Julianne Moore). )Next, you house them in abandoned mental institutions (insert heavy foreshadowing of the breakdown of society here.) And then it begins. People walk around naked 'cause hey, who's looking? Well, Julianne Moore is but the blind people don't know that. (You know, people don't tend to abandon their clothes in zombie movies. Score one for zombie movies.) Insert previously mentioned naked persons having sex in feces filled hallways. Hey, they weren't born blind. Nobody taught them how to locate a toilet in the dark (or through a milky white film.)



The good times just keep on comin' though. Once mild-mannered bartender turned narcissistic sociopath (Gael Garcia Bernal) enters the picture, we get a whole new movie. We get to see what people truly become like when the chips are not only down but being hoarded by a crazy person and his gang. Women are bartered for food (only heterosexuals need apply at this funny farm please.) I guess you'll have to excuse me if I find this sort of deconstruction of humankind to be a luxury of comfortably situated Western minds. For those who live 24/7 in a region where clean water is scarce and electricity (if it exists) may only come on for an hour a day, a film like this one may err on the side of hysteria. Wacky Canadian-Brazilian-Japanese filmmakers.




Now, maybe I'm being too practical here but there are actual blind people in this mental ward who were born blind (or became blind before the epidemic.) They probably were taught the skills necessary to survive in a world without sight. Surely, these blind people could assist the newly blind people with keeping the power running, the water flowing, etc. I'm not talking about flying a DC-10 or anything here but c'mon. Would we be completely incapable of keeping society running at a basic level? Just cause of a few million blind people. Reeeaallly?! Okay. I probably wouldn't want them cooking either.



SHOP.



Guns and ammo. 'Cause blind people should have those items if they're gonna be forced to live in a hellhole mental ward with an armed sociopath. Okay. Maybe not. But seeing-eye dogs were not an option apparently. Oooooh! I know! A can opener. (Not electric. No sense in that. There's nobody left to run the electricity as.) Very handy when you make your escape from the hellhole mental ward and start raiding those annoyingly overpriced specialty grocery stores with the rest of the blind people who did not think to order a manual can opener prior to the epidemic.



EAT.




Anything. Seriously. The way this movie was going I was pretty sure the blind were going to start digging up corpses and chowing down which would have provided me with my longed for zombie movie atmosphere. However, it didn't come to that and armed with my trusty manual can opener (or Swiss Army Knife for the pros), I could get by on canned food for awhile. However, up until the guards go blind, they do serve the blind inmates institutional food which resembles a Swanson's frozen dinner. Remember those? Anybody? Guess not. Well, they still exist apparently in the form of Swanson's Classics. So, if you're feeling a deep seated need to eat a meal in a plastic microwaveable tray, check out your local supermarket for the original "TV dinner." It might be best to close your eyes and imagine yourself in the mental ward though. That'll bring out the flavor for sure.

They Shoot Audiences, Don't They?

Appaloosa-Ed Harris, Viggo Mortensen, Renee Zellweger, Jeremy Irons





SEE?


Hollywood Western=men + horses + beautiful landscape/women. At least that's the formula I come up with in my mind. Good guys vs. bad guys. A simple tale about how men act when they are stripped down to the bare elements and forced to survive. This story is what the audience comes to see. A Western is not a story about some untrustworthy floozy traipsing around playing piano, pouting her lips and distracting the our hero from his purpose. Our bad guy is not a frail looking Brit dressed like an outlaw who got lost on his way Shakespeare in the Park. Our good guy should certainly be troubled, but not by the inability to articulate big words. In fact, our hero rarely speaks at all. That's why we like him. Actions not words. Our hero's sidekick must either die at the hands of the aforementioned bad guy or kick the bad guy's sidekick's ass. He cannot kill above his station. It is against the code of the Western. And our women....well, that's a tough one.


Yes, there have been well written roles for women in westerns. Linda Hunt in "Silverado." She was interesting. Of course, she wasn't there to have sex with anybody so they had to give her character a brain. Go figure. Robin Weigart's Calamity Jane in "Deadwood" also exhibited complexity of action and thought. Of course, that character was usually falling down drunk unless given some noble task to perform like protecting a brothel. She, too, was not intended as an object of romantic interest for anyone, thus, freeing her to be, well, almost a complete human being. "Appaloosa's" Ally French (Renee Zellweger) never develops enough as a character to shed any light on her motivations. We don't know her fears or her desires or where in the world she got all those awfully nice clothes. I guess her purpose is to separate our hero from his sidekick and put conflict in the story. But, frankly, all I wanted her to do was get out of the way, and let us get back to the shootin'. We had more than enough conflict before she trotted her perky butt into town.


I haven't read the book. You got me on that one. I should not have to read it (yes, I can read) in order to enjoy the movie. I should not have to refer to page 186 in order to understand what motivates Ally French. (Motivates on a real level. Not the bizarre musings of the menfolk about what she's looking for in a man.) I should not have to look up the reasons for Virgil Cole's (Ed Harris) violent outbursts or obsession with words. It should be clear in the movie. If not-rewrite, reshoot, reedit. Oh forget it. I'll just read the book and skip the film next time. Ed Harris+Viggo Mortensen +Western should=box office gold. But not if you muck it up with a convoluted romance and then further muck it up with boring courtroom scenes and sitcom level humor. I hope they try again with a simple Western. Maybe a revenge tale. Maybe I could contribute based what I felt when I left the theater.


SHOP.


Virgil Cole is plagued by the inability to recall complex words. As am I. It's supposed to be a humorous tick. It is the first time the audience sees it. The next ten times...well. Anyway, I thought he could really use a dictionary. But then I thought, if he doesn't recall the word, then he can't look it up. So maybe a thesaurus. At least he could look up similarly themed words until he finds the one he's looking for. Then, as often happens, I got bored and thought of clothes. Everett Hitch (Viggo Mortensen) sports this really cool jacket with a leather panel on the shoulder just for resting his rifle barrel or gun belt (items I don't normally carry around unless I'm visiting my family in Texas.) That's neat. He also wears a very pretty scarf but that brings up other questions so I won't worry about it. If you're in the mood for vintage western wear, shop http://www.1880westernwear.com/ or http://www.gentlemansemporium.com/. And, if you're still concerned about "missingworditus," visit http://www.dictionary.com/ and http://www.thesaurus.com/. Everybody needs a little help with their speaking skills now and then. Just ask our vice-presidential candidates.


EAT?


When you're hot on the trail of Hamlet..., I mean, your rugged, crazy-psychotic British bad rancher character, in the treacherous New Mexico wilderness (as if), you need food that's light, easily packable and durable. Jerky (I'm sure they make veggie jerky somewhere in California), power bars, coffee. Okay, one of these things does not belong but stretch your imagination a bit. I did for almost two whole hours. For rugged trail food to keep you going through a seemingly endless supply of bullets (most of which I wished would hit me), try http://www.aaoob.com/. The website claims that some of this food can be stored for roughly 3 to 5 years in their special containers. Yeah, you heard me. Be afraid. Or you could, I don't know, stay home, cook a real meal and read.

Coened Again.

SEE.


If you want to see a movie by a director who has a veritable presidential library of films for review, you should take advantage of this fact and do a little Netflixing before plunking down your right kidney at the megaplex for a ticket. If the director has never directed or written before then it's a crap shoot. Roll the dice and take your chances, kid. But with the Coen brothers, by now, there exists an oeuvre of cinema evidence so vast, so diverse that surely you must know if you will enjoy one of their movies. Therefore, I do not, do NOT, DO NOT understand anyone who can come out of "Burn After Reading" and claim it was not funny. It's not them, it's you. You didn't do your research. You thought, "Hmmm. George Clooney and Brad Pitt, maybe it will be like 'Ocean's 30: A New Beginning.' What the hell, I'll give it a shot." No, no, no, no, no. This is not "Knocked Up" or "Superbad." This is grown-up, you-have-to-work-for-it humor. Dark, twisted and just plain wrong. I mean "No Country For Old Men," "The Ladykillers," "Fargo," "The Big Lebowski," "Barton Fink," "The Hudsucker Proxy" and, for cryin' out loud, "Blood Simple." So, to those who don't get it, don't go. I think "Pineapple Express" is still playing at a theater near you.


As an aside, Brad Pitt and George Clooney are, indeed, attractive and very funny in this film. However, I'd like to tip my hat to the Coen brothers for reminding me how inexplicably sexy John Malkovich can be (even while donning a robe and boxers and carrying an ax.) There is just something about the combination of his voice, his mannerisms and his "you do know you're a complete idiot" way of speaking that makes me wanna, well...go back to school but be very naughty while I'm there. Yes, Professor Malkovich! Instruct me! Um...anyway...let's move on to food.


EAT.



Look. I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier but, compared to most of these characters, I'm National Merit material. Brain food. Get some. You don't want to wind up shopping somebody's memoirs to the Russians, do you? That's so eighties. Check out http://www.brainready.com/ or http://www.webmd.com/ and search "brain food" for some suggestions on how to stave off stupidity. Help them to help you.



SHOP.


I'm sorry but boxers move me. Deeply. John Malkovich in boxers reciting Shakespeare. BRING IT ON. You can't fake intellectual prowess in your significant other but you can dress the man in boxers and imagine him stating with great consternation, "You are part of league of morons!" Okay, maybe not that line but something else that suggests intellectual aptitude on his part. Shop sexy-smart at http://www.freshpair.com/ or http://www.skiviez.com/ or...oh, wait, I might be doing a little too much research on this one. Pardon me.

One Giant Shag for Womankind.

SEE.


All the fuss about Sarah Palin's hair these days got me thinking about coiffure feminism. You know- the fight for equality in hairstyling. (Her style choice could apparently determine the election.) In view of the historical hair choice facing our nation this November (and despite the Warren Beatty hair debacle in "The Parallax View"), I decided to explore Jane Fonda's take on coiffure feminism in the Alan J.Pakula thriller "Klute."

Ah, I love hooker hair films...I mean complex, socially insightful films which feature prostitutes trying to improve their lots in life while being stalked by psycho businessmen and rescued by naive out-of-state cops and somehow maintaining too-cute hairstyles. As Bree Daniels, Jane works that 'do and works her "johns." A "hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold" she ain't. Cunning, savvy and confused. Do you know a lot of prostitutes who see shrinks? Okay, maybe you do. At least Bree is trying to break out of the life and become a model/actress. An important stride for coiffure feminism! I take it back. She's gonna need that shrink. Alan J. Pakula really helped me decide something here. If this election is to be decided by a hairstyle, my vote is that Sarah Palin adopt the shag a la Klute. There's more than one John who might benefit from it.


EAT.


This one was tough. While Warren's shag in "The Parallax View" made him seem more feminine and made me want to eat less. Jane's shag has the opposite effect. Not that she seems more like a man but she's just plain confident and that makes me hungry. In honor of walking the streets of New York, and the fact that a busy working girl like Fonda's Bree Daniels hardly has time for a sit down meal, I say, check out the street vendors of New York. After all, both professions hawk their wares on the street. Go to www.nymag.com/restaurants/features/33526. Or look up your own local street action.

SHOP.

Lately, films and television shows have featured a number of social misfits with therapists trying to work through their social, well, misanthropy. Jane Fonda's conflicted prostitute may well have been one of the pioneers. Need to work through some issues (maybe your job as an assassin is cutting into family life) but short on time? Don't fret. Check out http://www.onlinetherapy.org/. Get right with life from the comfort of whatever dark alley you work in. Okay, it's not really shopping but it's important nonetheless. Mental health is in short supply these days. Just ask Sarah Palin's hairstylist.

Shag, Baby, Shag.

SEE.48 hours is a precious amount of time. This weekend I had a house guest; therefore, most of those 48 hours were not my own. This fact negatively impacted my movie viewing options. My house guest has standards and a husband. Thus, "Burn After Reading." A no go because the old ball and...I mean spouse has to see it with her. What about "Righteous Kill" or "Babylon, A.D."? Hello. Standards. I know. What can you do? So, after the house guest leaves I wind up watching "The Parallax View." "Why?" you might ask. Well, sometimes I like to see the way we were. "The Parallax View" was a 1974 post-JFK/RFK/MLK political conspiracy movie (back when the genre was fresh and new and untainted by...well...Oliver Stone.) This feature stars Warren Beatty as a small time reporter with an eye for unusual coincidences. I'm sure it was cutting edge at the time. Before Americans realized that these so-called "conspiracies" were just regular old politics in action, and Santa Claus was a crock. (Thank you Mr. Stone.) I'm not here to tell you the plot 'cause I'm simple. And simple people are easily distracted as I was by...Warren Beatty's hair.


Stop laughing. Stop it. I'm being serious here. I watched this entire movie, a compelling political thriller with an entrancing montage sequence that would make a music video director drool; but, all I'm thinking about is Warren Beatty's hair. People are murdered. Boats blow up. The American way of life holds on by a thread, and all I want to know is, "Was his hair just like that naturally or did they use curlers?" "How long did it take to get his hair like that if they did use curlers?" "Was that hair standard for the seventies or did they design it specifically for his character?" Did this hairdo prompt the idea for the movie "Shampoo?" Seriously, I was mesmerized for the entire movie. Unable to focus on the plot for all the hair (or is it the forest for the trees?). Watch "The Parallax View." You be the stylist/judge. Oh, and let me know if you figure out what the Parallax Corporation is and why they do what they do. I should get some educational value from this experience. EAT. I couldn't eat. I was too distracted by the hair. SHOP. I believe the style Mr. Beatty sports in this movie is a super shag. Yeah, baby. You can go to http://www.georgecarroll.com/ for detailed instruction on how to obtain Warren's modern look as well as view photos of his previous looks. But why bother with the current 'do?! To get his mind-boggling (but sexy) 1974 look just visit http://www.extremewigs.com/ or http://www.trendywigs.com/. Order up the "Shag Man." Let's hope it only refers to the wig.

You're gonna want something stronger.

SEE?

According to Wikipedia, bottle-shock can occur after bottling or transporting wine thus causing the flavors of certain wines to temporarily become muted or disjointed. Viewer-shock occurs after a moviegoer leaves the theater bent out of joint because a perfectly interesting story has been irreparably damaged by lackluster writing and misguided direction. The elements are all in Bottle Shock. An underdog story. A beautiful setting. Alan Rickman. Kicking French ass on French soil. A female intern who couldn't find a bra in the entire state of California. (Oh wait, it's the seventies, the bras were burned and didn't resurface until the one with the tassels appeared in that Madonna video.)

So why didn’t I stand up and cheer when the low-brow California wines beat the almighty French wines in a competition that changed the world of wine forever? Well… main character Jim Barrett (Bill Pullman) is an unlikable hard ass. Seriously, give me something to work with here. I have no idea what I’m supposed to like about this guy, and by the end of Bottle Shock, I almost start rooting for the French. Almost. His son, Bo Barrett (Chris Pine), did not win my heart either although that could have been the wig. (Please tell me that was a wig.) Gee, you used your mommy's money to buy the extra wine barrels your dad needs? Boohoo. Oh, and by the way, in the film version, Bo Barrett did not "save" the vineyard. It was the aforementioned braless intern, Sam (Rachael Taylor), who takes this slacker to a wine expert for some advice. I really wanted the wise and unjustly-persecuted-for-being-Mexican Gustavo Brambila (Freddy Rodriguez) to win. After all, his heart was inexplicably broken by the braless intern. Alright, Gustavo didn't seem that bothered by it but, it really irked me.

But wait, where there's Alan Rickman, there's hope. Rickman's Steven Spurrier is really the only underdog in this movie worth rooting for. He's a Brit who has chosen to live amongst the French and sell their wine to them. Um. Well, maybe, there's only so much sympathy you can give the man. Nonetheless, Rickman manages to make a snooty, know-it-all character appear a touch insecure and vulnerable. When Jim Barrett asks if there is a spare tire while he offers roadside assistance to Spurrier, Spurrier responds with a combination of indignity and bewilderment, "Yes, and a snakebite kit!" C'mon. Isn't he just the cutest? (Sadly, he doesn’t make wine so you can’t really root for him.) If Alan Rickman doesn't float your boat then consider the opportunity to view Dennis Farina in a full-on seventies green polyester suit complete with a silk neck scarf. Maybe if you drink a bottle of fine Cali wine beforehand, you can avert viewer-shock and just leave pleasantly buzzed. Probably not. I'd try a double scotch instead.



SHOP.

Clothes, clothes, clothes. It's all about the seventies so get to know the retro at http://www.ballyhoovintage.com and http://www.rustyzipper.com. Sure people will look at you all funny and stuff but, hey, Dennis Farina owns his look. No, I don't mean literally. He works it, and you can too.

EAT.

Before “spam” was known as junk mail in your e-mail inbox (hell, before there was e-mail), Spam was a lunch meat. It was invented in 1937. It was doled out to those in need during WWII. It scared many a school age child when they opened their lunch pail during the Cuban missile crisis. Still, for some strange reason, I associate Spam with the seventies. My mom never fed me Spam but, dammit, I'm trying to celebrate a decade here. Sure I could have easily typed up some list of the California vineyards that competed in the 1976 competition that this movie is based on, but wouldn't you rather have something hearty and, possibly, non-biodegradable. Check out http://www.spam.com/ for Spam recipes, fascinating Spamfacts and even, a Spam store. Yeah, you heard me. If that doesn't give you bottle-shock, I don't know what will.

Sex and La Ciudad

SEE.

If I was Woody Allen and I was in Barcelona with Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson, I, too, would concoct a tastefully reserved lesbian love scene. I mean I’m a straight woman but still. Who’d pass that up? Except for some kissing, the action takes place entirely in the mind of the viewer. So, who’s the dirty old man now? Oh, wait. I forgot the part about the movie. Take one part Vicky (Rebecca Hall), a graduate student with a ridiculously narrow thesis subject who favors a sure thing over experimentation; add one part Christina (Johansson), a woman searching aimlessly for her “gift.” And as for Barcelona, well, just sprinkle her in where needed for refreshing scenery. Voila! A movie is born. You may substitute Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz as needed for international flavor.

I won’t tell you that I loved this movie. It’s watchable. Woody Allen writes female characters that you would not befriend if someone held a gun to your head. If these were the only women I could muster up in my well-traveled mind, I’d switch teams. Pronto. Although, hey, the men aren’t exactly prizes either. The most attractive trait of a Woody Allen male is that he believes he is attractive despite all evidence to the contrary. But hey, that’s ballsy, and guts count for something. Bardem may prove the exception to that rule. When Bardem’s Juan Antonio approaches Vicky and Christina with a “let’s-cut-to-the-chase” sexual proposition, everyone in the audience checked sexual orientation at the door and said, “Yes!” If nothing else, I’d see it again just to relive that sensation.

EAT.

Tapas? Too contrived. I suggest you don’t eat. If you’re having sex with Javier Bardem, I mean Juan Antonio, don’t do it on a full stomach. Drink. In this movie, wine pours forth as though a bottomless Rioja fountain exists in the center of Barcelona. Spanish wine could give you the courage to explore or maybe to resist. Please. You are not gonna resist Javier, I mean Juan Antonio. Who are you kidding? Check out the Spanish wine page on http://www.jrnet.com/ And if you don’t drink, then...

SHOP.

Summer in Spain is similar to a well heated bread oven so less is more. Think lingerie. Why not? Unless you’re a man. In which case, you should buy it for someone you’d love to see wearing it. In celebration of the somewhat creepy and voyeuristic (c’mon Woody!) lesbian lovin’ of Christina and Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz), go get yourself something sexy. Be authentic. Try http://www.etam.es/ for the genuine Spanish article of clothing. Maybe you too will take a trip and be hit on by a sexy artist. Of course, it didn’t happen to me in Spain or Italy or France but, then again, I’m no VickyChristinaBarcelona.

I'll have the Corman classic with a side of abs.

See.


I paid to see Death Race. I'm not going to justify it. I'm not going to pretend that there was some higher purpose in seeing this remake of a Roger Corman cult classic. (I've never seen the original.) I just plain love Jason Statham. In The Bank Job, he proved that he is capable of more that an annoyed look and a good shirtless fistfight. But I came for the annoyed look and a good shirtless fistfight. I came to see unnecessary, disturbing violence, over-the-top explosions and ridiculously jarring car racing. When it was over, I was sated. I can't help that Joan Allen has been left with no choice in her career but to play a stereotypical, uptight well...do I have to say it? Next Steel Magnolias, she'll get her shot. Paul "W.hat S.**t" Anderson has no business trying to give Joan any depth or humanity anyway. I didn't come to see her abs after all.

Oh, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the king of Deadwood, Ian McShane. Good Lord. I love this man. What must he have thought? Good fun! I'm a Golden Globe-winning, Emmy-nominated actor. I should take a crack at banal, inane dialogue now that I've mastered the modern day Shakespearean wordsmithing of David Milch. "Give me a line like 'Now that's entertainment.' Let me work my magic on it." I know, I know. Those who can't write, gripe. Seriously, though, when is Deadwood the Movie coming out?



Shop.



Look. I've never been to an operational women's prison but I'm pretty sure they don't prance around in the cutoff waffle shirts and low-riding jeans that the chicks in this movie were sporting. I say go for authenticity. Visit http://procorroutfitters.com/. Get yourself a roomy orange jumpsuit and some "comfortable" shoes. They even have underwear. (Frankly, I'm not sure the female prisoners in this movie had any on.) Discounts if you buy in bulk!



Eat.



My gut says stick with the standard prison food reference here. Find a buffet restaurant chain and let 'em have at. Still that just doesn't seem to strike the right chord with this particular prison movie. Maybe it's the abundant use of oil stains on the cast's wardrobe but I feel that something more is merited here. Dictionary.com defines a "greasy spoon" as a "cheap and rather unsanitary restaurant." (I just thought of it a place to get a good burger but I'll go with the pros here.) Death Race, while probably not cheap, didn't seem particularly clean. I think what is required here is a real cholesterol boosting experience. Large men donning plaid shirts and leather jackets. A waitress named Flo. So, check out "Guy's hotspots" under Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives on http://foodnetwork.com/. Guy Fieri lists numerous "good eatin' " food spots that will fortify you for your race to the Death.

SEE?

Here’s the thing to consider when you get into the business of a movie franchise such as The Mummy III: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor. Is the paycheck worth my dignity? This is the question that John Hannah (a decent actor known to American audiences most notably from Four Weddings and a Funeral) must have been pondering as he found himself acting opposite a yak. Not in the noble way which Tom Hanks found himself acting opposite a volleyball. Not for Mr. Hannah. Nothing but humiliation including, but not limited to: speaking romantically to the yak, holding a barf bag for the yak and, finally, being barfed on by said yak.

This is the sort of treatment that the supporting actor in a “too-long-since-the-last-one” threequel can expect to have foisted upon him. Good luck with that, Mr. Hannah. Aside from feeling terrible about John Hannah’s plight in this movie, I was also stunned by the appearance of Yeti (abominable snowmen) who, familiar with the American sport of football, know enough to raise their arms in the shape of goalposts after punting a bad guy over an ancient arch. I know enough not to ask why. Rather, I shake my head slowly from side to side and cover my eyes as though this will shield me from the fact that yet another sequel has diminished an otherwise enjoyable franchise. Please don’t start me on Indiana Jones. It’s not my place to say don’t see this movie but, here’s what to shop for and what to eat beforehand. You can be the judge.

EAT?

No. Not Chinese food. C’mon. Too easy. Yak cheese. You heard me. In solidarity with John Hannah’s plight, you, the viewing audience, should have some yak cheese and crackers or whatever you eat with yak cheese. The yak is an animal native to the Himalayan mountain region where some of the action in The Mummy III occurs. And, yes, they make cheese from yak’s milk there. In fact, they use just about every part of the yak but we won’t go there. Not even in the spirit of enduring as Mr. Hannah had to endure. So go buy yourself some yak cheese before this show. Don’t ask me where. I think you can find some online.


SHOP.

I know. It’s enough that you have to find the yak cheese. If you’re going to go that far though, you should invest in some airsickness bags. You’re gonna need ‘em at least a third of the way into this movie. Shop http://www.pilotthings.com/ for the cleverly named Sick Sack. They go for fifty cents a bag. Get a few.